Christmas 1971, the Christmas that Almost Wasn't

Me - Passport Photo 1972

  The holiday season always has me reflecting back on my childhood, a time when life was simplier, a time when the family members I loved so much surrounded me, and a time of year when everything was magical.  Christmas was a big deal with the Wood family, especially my grandmother, who always made a big fuss over family visits.  Christmas 1971 was a Christmas I have never forgotten, because we almost missed Christmas that year.  We were in Groton, Connecticut and dad was in the submarine service.  Even though my mom hated my dad being out to sea three (3) months at a time, she did like living in New England, a place that reminded her of her childhood, growing up in Massachusetts.    We also loved being in New England, because it meant that we had family nearby.  Mom's sister lived in Maryland (an easy weekend trip) and my grandmother's stepsisters and their families were in Massachusetts.  For a military family that moved every 2-3 years, being able to be close to family was very rare, so we did travel quite a bit during our three (3) years there. 

   That year we planned to drive to St. Petersburg, Florida to be with my mom's parents for Christmas.  On the way down, we'd always stop-over at Aunt Pearl's house, no matter what time it was.  She lived in Waltersboro, South Carolina, which was about the half-way point for us when traveling.  This particular year, I remember that we ended up at Fort Bragg at the base hospital on the way down, because my brother and I were sick and running fevers.  He always got bronchitis and I had tonsillitis, and this time was no exception.  After a bottle of pink stuff (liquid Pencillin), and cough medicine it was just a short trip to Aunt Pearl's.  We had a light blue VW 411 station wagon, which was a "lemon."  Every weekend since Dad started having problems with the car, we'd make the weekend trip up to Orangeburg, New York to the main VW Distributorship, where Dad would meet with someone with the latest list of complaints with the car.  The car was the first to be fuel-injected, and it used to backfire and if you stopped to get gas and turned off the engine, it would not restart right away.  My dad was not a patient man, nor did he curtail his language in certain situations.  When he was waiting for the car to start, we couldn't move or utter a sound or we'd be the target of his frustration. 

   On this particular trip it was Christmas Eve, and we had to stop and get gas in Gainesville.  It was late in the evening and of course, the car wouldn't start.  I think Mom actually called my grandparents from a pay phone to let them know we'd be late so they wouldn't worry.  Just when we were thinking we may have to get a hotel room, the car started and we were back on the road.  It was close to midnight or early Christmas morning by the time we pulled in the driveway.  My brother and I were asleep, but I woke up briefly when we were being carried to the sofa bed in the Florida room off the living room.  My parents and grandparents waited until they thought I was asleep, and then went to unload the packages from the hood of the car.  I pretended to be asleep, but listened as they were bringing the presents in the house, and I could see through the sliders, as no one had closed the curtain separating the two rooms.  In our family, Santa's gifts were usually unwrapped, set up and ready to play with.  I think that year, I received a starter phonograph, along with a Carpenters' album and other gifts.  I told my mom the next day that I knew my parents were Santa and what I saw.  She swore me to secrecy where my brother was concerned and threatened if I told him, my gifts would suffer.  I'm thinking that it was several years before my brother realized that Santa had helpers.  I was eight (8) years old, and back in the day that was fairly young to stop believing in Santa.  However, I was always an "old soul," and was always pushing the envelope when it came to grown-up things and Christmas was not an exception. 

   The saddest part of my childhood is that I don't think many pictures or slides survived moving every three years, so I'll be making copies of the school pictures in the hands of my cousin and Aunt to have pictures of those years.  I'll be doing more blogs on my childhood and places I remember in the coming year, since we traveled the world courtesy of the US Navy.  At least a verbal history of my childhood will live on, even though pictures won't be as numerous.  I'm committed to preserving, through labeling and scanning the pictures of my adult years and those of my daughter's childhood so these can be shared with the generations to come.  Time passes quickly, and the memories of that Christmas night are still vivid in my memory, even though it was over 40 years ago.  Now, I'm the grandparent making memories with my own grandchildren and making them feel special, as my grandmothers did for me.